


Babe You Look So Cool

by capsicleandmetalman



Series: High School AU [2]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Cigarettes, High School, Kinda, M/M, POV First Person, Pre-Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Skinny Dipping, Sneaking Out, Songfic, Steve Is a Good Bro, Steve POV, The Lyrics are mentioned, Tony Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Triggers, Ty Stone is a dick, Underage Smoking, not really - Freeform, the 1975, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-09 00:32:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3229478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capsicleandmetalman/pseuds/capsicleandmetalman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Accompanying piece to Happy Thoughts) High School AU: Steve Rogers is unable to sleep one night due to his mind refusing to shut up and during his struggle he receives a rather peculiar text from his best friend, Tony Stark, urging him to come outside to hang out with him despite the fact that it's two in the morning. Slightly bewildered and annoyed, Steve accompanies Tony on the adventure Tony has planned for the two of them only to realize that Tony's abusive boyfriend Ty Stone, (whom he refuses to dump) has broken Tony in more ways than Steve ever knew.<br/>summaries suck dick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Babe You Look So Cool

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, Sarah here! Those who are here who have read Happy Thoughts and are curious as to why we have not updated... I would like to formally apologize to you all. Natasha has finished chapter 4 but oddly enough it's been me who has been unable to write a single thing for Tony's chapter. I've simply lost my ability to write (as you'll most likely see within the not-so-good writing I've presented you with today) We have to publish them together because we have different ideas and want them to flow evenly so we don't confuse you guys so hopefully I can get my spark back and will be able to complete chapter 5 for you guys! But until then I've taken a different route and decided to write from Steve's POV for the very first time (I think I failed at that) based VERY LOOSELY upon an experience I had over New Years.
> 
> The title is based off the lyrics from The 1975 song, Robbers... which if you have not listened to I insist you do right this moment... and you're one who listens to music while reading fics... I do think you should read said song while reading this. :) 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

I’ve never been one to partake in wild adventures that make me feel as if I’m on top of the world. I’ve never really had the guts to do anything even remotely rebellious. I rarely create memories full of exhilarating moments that make me want to spread my arms out like a wild bird in a haze, soaring through the crystal-blue sky, completely invincible to anything that gets in my way. None of this is because I’m living some sad, deprived existence in which I am unable to live my life the way all young adult novels deem the very best way. I simply don’t want to, as odd as that may seem. I want to live a memorable life, yes, but I want those moments that compose my memories to be safe, legal and not influenced by some mind-altering substance. Perhaps that’s a dull way to live, but it’s just the life I prefer.

So, why am I pondering my existence? Well that answer is quite simple. I can’t sleep. No matter how hard I try, I cannot allow my eyes to flutter shut and for my mind to drift away into an oblivion of absolute bliss. So of course, instead of attempting to fall asleep by thinking about boring things such as mitochondria or the quadratic formula (which is more of a nightmare-inducing thought if you ask me) I am laying in my too-small bed, staring at the ceiling and evaluating my existence.

My thoughts are suddenly interrupted by the obnoxious ring of my cell-phone, which I have on full-blast so I will be able to wake to the oh-so-pleasant blaring of my alarm. With a groan at the sound, I stretch my arm over to my nightstand and pull the device off of its charger. I quickly type in a passcode and pull up a text message from my best friend, Tony Stark. I squint my eyes at the sudden brightness, allowing my eyes to adjust before proceeding to read his text.

Tony: coming over. get dressed. we’re going out.

I glance up at the clock in the right corner of my cellphone. 1:56 a.m. I’m not usually one to be up this late--especially not on a school night. But going out on a school night, hours past curfew is an action that is completely foreign to me. Even Tony, who has always been one to stay up for nights on end, has never been one (to my knowledge) to drive around this late at night.

Me: Tony, it’s almost 2. We have school tomorrow.

Tony: i’ll be over soon. meet me in the car. i’m not getting out.

Me: Why?

Tony: we are going out. be ready. 

Me: Tony I’m in bed.

Tony: youre awake now tho

Me: Tony its past curfew

 

Tony: who cares? hurry up and say okay or im gonna be texting and driving

Me: THATS DANGEROUS!

Tony: say youll be outside

Me: You’re such a jerk.

Tony: I’ll be there in 5 min.

I huff out a sigh, shaking my head as I set my phone down on the nightstand. I kick the covers off my body, and peel myself from the comforts of my warm bed. I stride over to my closet, muttering several swears under my breath as I grab a pair of well-worn jeans and yank them over my boxers. I decide the old football sweatshirt I had on for sleeping purposes (which I have had yet to experience) is suitable enough for the bitter cold weather outside and simply pull my winter jacket over it. I proceed to sit back on my bed and pull some shoes on as I continue to mumble, irritated at the fact that Tony possesses the ability to make anyone do whatever he wants just by being himself.

Now I know I can truthfully say I am not one who typically has those invigorating experiences that I was pondering earlier, but Tony, my best friend and my complete polar opposite, is exactly the type to engage in those moments that could quite possibly land him in jail (or in an early grave). He is the personification of pure excitement. He’s all loud laughs and crooked smiles, slurred words and stumbling steps, wild adventures and unforgettable memories. 

Well, he used to be. Everything seemed to change when he started dating Tiberius "Ty" Stone. The laughs grew fewer, the smiles were strained, the words became stammers, the steps evolved into painful limping, the adventures halted, and the memories are still unforgettable-- but I’m sure he wants to forget them. I’ve urged him countless times to leave the douchebag, but all Tony does is laugh and put forth the persona of how he used to be as if nothing is wrong at all. 

I am somewhat annoyed that Tony has successfully forced me into joining him on one of his quite possibly stupid and illegal expeditions, but it’s somewhat of a relief to see that perhaps, a slither of the old Tony, reckless and willing to do anything, might be back just for the night-- and I’ve been granted the privilege to see Tony in his absolute prime.

But what I end up seeing will not be what I expect at all.

My phone starts buzzing again, and I choose to ignore it. I know it’s Tony whining about being here and how he’s been waiting for oh-so-long in the confines of a claustrophobic vehicle-- which probably costs more than my damned house. He’s the one who is forcing me to go out in the dead of night when I could be sleeping (although that’s unlikely since my mind seems to be on a frenzy of self-evaluation). Tony can wait a minute for me to finish tying my tennis shoes and to get out the door without waking my father. 

After a whole two minutes of me intentionally lollygagging just to irritate Tony a little bit, I find that I have a grand total of twenty-seven messages from the devil himself. I laugh to myself, shaking my head. I can’t deny, I am most impressed with his determination to get me out of the house and with him. He’s a little shit, but he’s my little shit (not that he’s equivalent to an object that has passed through the crack of my ass). 

I make my way outside, instantly assaulted by the frigid air and the sound of The 1975 which Tony has playing loud enough to wake the whole neighborhood. After I softly shut the door as to not wake my father, I sprint over to his over-priced,luxurious car to snap at him to turn down the music before somebody files a complaint. 

I fling the door open, where the sound is even louder-- but the scent of alcohol is much stronger. 

“What the he--” I get out before falling into a state of shock at what I see before me. I’m not unused to seeing Tony in a beaten state ever since he started dating dickface, but tonight he just looks positively awful. His face is pale and his eyes are bloodshot from more than just the alcohol he’s obviously been drinking. There’s a large bruise forming along his jaw, his left eye is swollen shut, his nose appears broken and drips blood sluggishly, his lip is fat and split and there’s finger-shaped bruises around his neck where somebody (Ty) must have choked him. 

“Hey there,” he slurs slightly, a smile curling up his bruised mess of a face, revealing a set of blood-stained teeth. “I’ll turn this down.” 

His shaking fingers turn Matt Healy’s voice down to a more appropriate volume. I cringe slightly at the sight of his skeletal hands as he places them back on the wheel.

“Tony what happ--”

“We’re going to go to the lake tonight Steve. Just you, me, a six-pack, and The 1975.” 

“Who did this to y--”

“Get your seatbelt on. I’m freezing.” It’s not surprising that he’d cold in this weather. But he’s always cold anymore. He’s lost at least twenty pounds since asshole started dating him. 

I know he won’t tell me who did this to him (or how this was all Ty and Ty is the reason he’s lost weight and the reason he hardly talks to me and how he’s just a mess anymore). So I change the subject. “Do you want me to drive. You seem a little tips--”

“I can drive just fine Rogers.” He laughs out. The laugh is forced and brittle. 

“I could you kn--”

“Nonsense. This is my car. Just sit back and relax.” 

How can I even think to relax when my best friend is in such a broken state? I just can’t, so I pretend to comply with his demand and sit back in the car, unable to take my eyes off of him.

As we coast out of the neighborhood and onto the highway that leads us to the lake, Tony turns the volume back up seeing as nobody in their right mind would be out and awake at this time of night, and therefore Tony could blast his music to the deafening volumes as he so pleases. He starts to sing along to the music completely off-key and louder than necessary. I can’t help but laugh at Tony as he thrusts one hand into air, screaming the lyrics. He starts laughing with me and it’s almost like I’m with the old Tony for a moment.

“Sing with me Stevie!” Tony insists, beaming at me.

“I can’t sing Tones.” 

“Neither can I and I’m doin’ it!” He giggles, throwing his head back in seemingly real joy; but is actually the result of the alcohol he’s clearly been throwing down his throat.

It’s just so heart wrenching to see him like this. Right now, in his haze, he’s laughing and full of joy. He’s singing songs and screaming out the window so the world knows that he, Tony Stark, is king of the world. But I know that once this haze fades or turns into a hangover, this happy persona that Tony is putting forth will be gone again. It’ll be back to isolation, and looking down at his feet all the time as he stands next Ty, unable to function like a normal person with that asshole constantly throwing an arm around Tony’s bony shoulder. 

He was once so lively and full of life.He was the bird that was invincible in the blue expanse of sky. He was absolute perfection. Now, his wings are broken and he’s on the ground, completely vulnerable to the hawks that circle above him and the sneaky foxes that crawl across the land-- ready to attack him and take him as their prey. 

It took one person, one fucking person to blow out Tony’s roaring flame and turn him into a dark lifeless shell of what he used to be. One fucking fucknut took this amazing person and tossed him away like it was nothing and left him there to suffer.

“Hey,” Tony says lazily, stopping his incessant screeching and pulling me away from my buzzing thoughts. “Light me a cigarette.”

“What?” I ask, surprised by the request. Tony’s heart, in a metaphorical sense, is and has always been one of the strongest ones I know despite the cocky and arrogant aura he puts off-- his literal one on the other hand is horribly weak and things like intense exercise, stress (which he already has) and smoking are things he should always avoid.

“There’s a pack of smokes in the glove box. I want one.”

“You can’t smoke Tony!” I snap, irritated that Tony is willing to put his health at risk. I don’t give a damn how upset he is, smoking is not the answer-- especially for him. “It could ki--”

“Kill me?” He hisses, narrowing his eyes at me. I fall silent. He starts laughing. He laughs a horrible raspy-sounding cackle that grates my ears. “I’ve been dead for a very long time, Steve.” Just like that, the happy Tony I’ve always loved (loved more than I probably should) is gone.

“Tony--” I start, my heart dropping at his words.

“A cigarette isn’t going to break somebody who is already shattered beyond repair.” He sighs, “Just light me the fucking thing or I’ll have to put not just my life, but both of our lives at risk trying to grab the pack my fucking self.”

I swallow thickly at his rebuttal and although I really don’t want to, I open the glove box and pull out the already opened box of cigarettes. I find a lighter in the pack and pull it out, lighting one of the bastards and handing it over to him begrudgingly. He takes it with slender fingers and slips it between his chapped lips, inhaling the deadly tobacco as if it were nothing. 

“Thanks,” he mumbles. I think I can hear a slight wheeze in the back of his throat. I pretend not to notice.

The rest of the drive is rather awkward. Tony continues to take puffs from his cigarette and Matt Healy continues to sing about sex and drugs. I simply stare out the window unable to say a single thing. 

Tony pulls up to the lake, and turns the music up to its full blast. He stretches his body back to grab for the six pack of beer. As he does this, his shirt rides up and I am able to see his sunken stomach that is marred by bruises that are both old and new. I can taste the vomit crawling up my throat and I close my eyes just wondering why Tony would stay with this kid and how the hell a sixteen year old could be so twisted.

He pulls his body back into his seat, and hands me a bottle of alcohol. “Drink your sorrows away Stevie!”he yells above the music as he pops the cap off his own. I sit there awkwardly with my unopened bottle as Tony takes a long swig of the amber colored liquid.

“Don’t be a prude babe.” 

“I don’t like drinking Tony.”

“It’s not cheap shit.” I already knew it wouldn’t be cheap. This was Tony Stark. He would never be caught dead drinking something us common folk could find at a gas station.

“It makes me sick.”

“No. The hangovers make you sick. The alcohol makes you forget everything that hurts Steve.”

“No it doesn’t Tony. It just blurs it for a few hours.”

“Don’t be a spo-spoil sport. Give me some love. No one else does.”

“Tony…”

“Live some you boy scout!” He giggles, finishing the bottle with a final gulp before popping the cap off another one. It’s no wonder the guys already tipsy and borderline drunk. He’s too small and fragile to handle a lot of alcohol. 

“Tony…”

“Well if you don’t drink it, I guess I’ll have to!” He snaps, draining the second bottle down his throat. I sigh and simply stare at my worn-out tennis shoes, closing my eyes as Tony starts singing drunkenly to the excessively loud music.

Suddenly Tony’s door is pushed open as he stumbles out of the car, as his favorite 1975 song, Robbers starts blaring through the speakers. At first I think he’s opened it to throw up the alcohol he’s so quickly downed-- which, in all honesty, wouldn’t surprise me. But instead, he’s stripping his shirt off to reveal more ghastly bruises, welts and a few bite-marks. 

“Tony get inside. It’s thirty three degrees outside. You’ll get sick.” 

“No worries Steve-O!” he cheers, as he starts pulling his jeans off, leaving him in a pair of boxer briefs. 

“Tony get dressed!” I urge, stepping out of the car, making my way to the swaying boy.

“Awh Stevie…” he garbles “Live a lil’ and strip with me!”

“Now Tony! Get in the damned car!” I make a move to grab him on a part that doesn’t appear to be bruised but he backs away from me, pulling at the waistband of his underwear. He slips them off, leaving himself bare in front of me. Anthony Edward Stark is standing in front of me in his full bare ass being completely drunk and out of his mind. I can’t help but stare at his body in it’s full form. Tony was always beautiful and I always thought he was. He has perfectly bronzed skin and almost-raven colored hair and chocolate-brown eyes to compliment his skin-tone. His body was always nicely filled out with a hint of lean muscle surfacing behind the perfectly colored skin. Every curve at every angle of his frame was always perfect and I always, ever since I hit puberty, couldn’t help but imagine this beautiful body against my own. But now-- it’s nothing like the one I knew so well from countless trips to the pool and sleepovers we used to have. The once golden skin is tinged with an unhealthy gray and molten with bruises of yellow, green, purple, black and blue. The once lively eyes have faded into dead orbs that seem to be staring into hell itself. His hair is dry and brittle-looking, lacking the natural shine it once had. Bones everywhere on his body threaten to tear through the gray skin. He was once so beautiful and perfect but he’s been broken down to this fragile, lost creature.

“Tony get dressed!” I plead.

“We’re skinny-dipping Stevie!” he yells as he sprints across the sand and towards to water.

“Tony fucking stop it right now!” I scream as I run over to him. 

He takes two steps into the water before uttering a blood-curdling scream that nearly stops my heart. “COLD COLD COLD. SHIT STEVE. THAT’S COLD!” 

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“Quiet dear Watson!” He snaps in a rather poor British accent. 

“Tony, get your fucking clothes on!”

“Afraid of a lil’ cock are we Steve?” He snickers, stumbling to the car, sitting his bare ass on the hood of the car, cringing slightly as the cold metal makes contact with his skin. “Thought you’d be used to it with all the football players you shower with by now.”

I feel my cheeks growing hot and my heart pounding with a mixture of worry and irritation. “Tony, stop this fucking shit right now. I’m driving you home.”

“I think not!” He shouts over the music as he staggers up to the roof of the car where he stands up, swaying slightly. 

“Tony!” I shout, “Get down from there!” 

He thrusts his arms into the air and starts screaming the lyrics to Robbers. “NOW I’LL SHOOT HIM IF IT’S WHAT YOU ASK BUT IF YOU JUST TAKE OFf YOUR MASK, YOU FIND OUT EVERYTHING’S GONE WRONG!” 

“TONY!” I scream, but my attempt is futile as the music drowns out my voice. 

His knees buckle and he grips his hair shouting at the top of his lungs, “NOW EVERYBODY’S DEAD AND--” suddenly he loses his footing and falls off the car, slamming his already broken body into the concrete.

I run away from the hood of the car and to where his body is sprawled and trembling as he sobs hysterically. I quickly pull his naked form close to my clothed one, draping my coat over his narrow shoulders. He starts vomiting on both his bare stomach and my jean covered thigh, but I could care less about that. I pull him close to me, holding his head against my shoulder as he chokes on sobs.

“It’s okay Tony. It’s okay.”

“NO!” He screams, arching his back away from me, vomiting again. “HE RUINED EVERYTHING!” 

I swallow thickly knowing that he’s talking about Ty and that he’s totally and completely unaware of the words he’s uttering in his drunken haze.

“I JUST WANTED HIM TO LOVE ME STEVE. I WANTED SOMEBODY TO HOLD ME AND TO LOVE ME FOR ME. BUT I WASN’T ENOUGH. I’M NEVER ENOUGH.” He breathes in violently, a guttural sound that makes his eyes bulge out and his breathing hitch as more sobs rack his emaciated frame. “I-I just w-want to die.”

He falls forward into my chest, gripping my sweatshirt as he continues to cry loudly into the night. I swallow around the lump of my throat knowing that I need to be strong for him right now. I pull him into my lap and whisper, “You are enough babe. You’re more than enough for me.” And since he won’t remember any of this in the morning, I press my lips into his greasy hair as Robbers fades away with Matt Healy singing, “Babe you look so cool…”

**Author's Note:**

> That's that! I wrote this at 5 in the morning so if there's any mistakes... please inform me. I apologize to anything that seems OOC.... I have lost my ability as I've told you.
> 
> I hope to update Happy Thoughts soon. Thank you for reading!
> 
> Comment please. It makes me feel like I refused sleep for a good purpose.


End file.
